


We Have All The Time in the World

by dametokillfor



Series: The Declassified Romance of Agents Hart and Trevelyan [5]
Category: Kingsman: The Secret Service (2015)
Genre: Angst, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, Fluff, Homophobic Language, Implied Violence, M/M, Phone Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-26
Updated: 2015-03-26
Packaged: 2018-03-19 17:07:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,410
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3617619
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dametokillfor/pseuds/dametokillfor
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>James and Harry have been together nine years. With James close to his fortieth birthday, Harry thinks it's time they takes the next step. Of course, things aren't always easy for international super spy boyfriends.</p>
            </blockquote>





	We Have All The Time in the World

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sal_paradise](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sal_paradise/gifts).



> My dear friend Sal gave me a prompt for Harry and James which involved much angst and one of them having to deal with the other Kingsman preparing for a celebration while one was off the grid. This is... a bit like that, but it seemed to take on a fluffy life all of it's own.
> 
> Title from Louis Armstrong, a song that most Bond fans I know can't hear without crying, regardless of how problematic and terrible the film it's from is. 
> 
> Again, this could be read as part of the same universe as [When You Wake Me Up](http://archiveofourown.org/works/3545921), and [Give Me Every Little Bit Of Your Broken Heart](http://archiveofourown.org/works/3571766), but also works as a standalone.

Harry has never been a morning person. He's disciplined in most aspects of his life, but rising before double figures is one that he's always had trouble with.

(Back in the day, it had nearly cost him his place in Kingsman. The morning of the skydiving test, he'd overslept and nearly missed the flight. It had only been thanks to an overzealous Mr Pickle going at his leg that he'd made it. Naturally he'd passed with flying colours, but it had been touch and go for a moment.)

If he had his way, the work day would start at noon, and he'd be woken with a full pot of tea and a greasy fry up, all delivered by a gorgeous nude butler. However most days, he's content to be allowed to sleep til 8AM, and be woken by a drooling boyfriend mumbling about whatever bizarre dream is currently going through his head. 

"No… don't mm'mfy the roquefff't. Use the brie." 

He rolls over and looks at James, hair askew, face half pressed into the pillow, mouth gaping open. 

Harry is pretty okay with his life. 

"Actually, I don't think the brie would survive the mummification process. You'd be safer using a hard cheese."

It's not even the strangest phrase he's said to James first thing. ("I appreciate you fighting for ducksexual rights, but do you really have to shoot Bernard Matthews to make your point?") 

"Mmph," James moans into the pillow, "I did contemplate Edam, but the wax was problematic."

He opens his eyes and looks up at Harry, a slow smile crossing his face.

"Parmesan?" Harry offers.

"That could work." James agrees, closing his eyes again, "Let me go back and tell the cheese pharoah."

"You do that." Harry kisses him on the head, "I'll go make us some breakfast."

"Won't be long, love." James yawns, "I just have to stop him destroying the cheese."

He pulls the duvet up over his head and is snoring within moments.

Harry has never been a morning person, but when the cheese pharoah is about to make a grievous error, he feels he can make an exception. 

\---x

James joins him downstairs twenty minutes later, a pair of striped pyjama pants, and a blue open robe sleepily thrown on. His hair is stuck up at crazy angles, the robe is inside out, and there's an egg stain on his left knee, but Harry still thinks he looks perfect.

(Because Harry is still a lovesick idiot, even after nine years.)

James crosses the kitchen and grabs a cup of tea from the side, before walking to where Harry is stood at the hob, cooking up eggs, and wrapping an arm around his middle. He rests his head on Harry's shoulder and presses a sloppy kiss to his neck.

"Smells good."

"It's just eggs."

"Not what I meant." James says, smiling into his neck.

(Because James is also still a lovesick idiot, even after nine years.)

Harry turns round to face him, wraps his arms around his shoulders, "You solved the cheese crisis then?"

James nods, "They offered me some sexy mouse women in return for my help. I had to turn them down, apparently you've ruined me."

"For sexy mouse women?" Harry questions, "I'm not sure how to take that."

"It sounded better in my head." James admits, "Actually it sounded better when I was asleep, and nothing made any sense. Was I really dreaming about mummifying cheese?"

"It's not as strange as the time the Muppets wanted you to join them on tour as the new Miss Piggy."

"I still can't hear Rainbow Connection without shuddering." James agrees.

Harry kisses him, because he can, because that comment was so ridiculous, because this is his life and it's goddamn perfect, and his parents would hate everything about it but Harry is actually happy. 

"I need to finish these eggs." He tells James. It's less heavy for 8.34AM. James nods, kisses Harry again, before pulling away and leaning against the island. 

The toast pops out of the toaster, James moves to grab it and sets about buttering and slicing. 

"Do you think these dreams are a sign of a mid-life crisis?" James asks, "I'm getting old, and my brain is going slowly mad."

"James, you're 39." Harry reminds him, "I'm also 12 years older than you. So if you're getting old, I'm practically prehistoric."

"You do sound like a caveman if you're woken before 7AM." James points out, "And I wouldn't complain if you clubbed me about the head, and dragged me to your love cave."

"I'll make a note of that." 

"It's just turning 40 next month." James starts, sighs, "When I was younger, 40 was an abstract idea. It was something I just assumed I'd either be too coked up to see, or something I'd never see because of the coke."

"James." Harry warns. He doesn't like to think about how wrecked James was before Kingsman. A trust fund brat, who'd completed his degree in Mathematics at Oxford, then gone completely insane, burning through his families money in an attempt to deal with the mind numbing boredom his genius brain felt. It's a wonder he made it through. 

"Now I'm in my yellow kitchen, with my partner of nine years, drinking tea, while he cooks eggs. It's so domestic." James says, "Good, great, perfect. It just gives me a chance to think about the fact I am getting older. I've lived long enough to worry about getting older."

"Exactly. You've lived long enough to get older." Harry points out, "In our line of work, with your past, that's something you should be celebrating." 

James offers a half smile, "True."

"If it's any consolation, you'll always be my younger, better looking boyfriend." Harry reminds him, "Unless of course, you're looking to do some cradle robbing of your own."  
James' nose wrinkles distastefully, "No, I’m happy with the grave robbing."

He leans across and kisses Harry's cheek, "So I guess you're stuck with me."

Harry smiles, lifts the pan off the hob and divvies out the eggs, sliding them on top of the hot, liberally buttered brown toast.

As James sets up the table, Harry starts singing quietly, "Why are there so many songs about rainbows?" 

It takes James a moment to realise what his partner is singing, but the moment he twigs, he flings a sugar cube at Harry's head. Harry ducks under it perfectly, laughing and continuing to sing. 

Yes. Harry is pretty okay with his life.

\---x

"I'm going to ask James to marry me."

Of course, Harry's life could always be a little better.

Merlin looks up from the tablet he's working on. He's been beavering away on a hack for biometric security systems for months. Harry almost feels guilty about interrupting. However they've been friends over twenty years, so he figures he'll get past the guilt quickly.

Merlin looks across at where Harry is poking some very expensive equipment. He gets up to his feet and snatches the shiny thing from out of Harry's hands. He puts it on his desk, swats Harry's arm, "Marry you? I thought you two were happy living in sin?"

Harry can't help but wonder if Merlin is also reminded of the unfortunate incident with truth serum, before he and James had got together. Harry had found himself telling his best friend that he'd have been happy living in a rotten cardboard box under a bridge, if James was with him. 

"Perfectly." Harry confirms, leaning back on the desk, snagging Merlin's mug of tea and taking a long drink of it.

"So why the urge to ruin it with marriage?" Merlin asks, plucking the mug from Harry's hands.

"Of course, I'm talking to the man with the three ex-wives." 

"Two."

"I was definitely best man for you three times, Merlin." 

"Yes, but technically Angie doesn't count." Merlin reminds him, "Mission wives aren't real wives."

"They count if you go off mission and propose." Harry counters.

"You and James have the most stable, happy relationship I've seen in and out of the agency." Merlin says, quickly changing the subject, "You don't need marriage." 

"I don't need it, no. But now I can have it." Harry says, somewhat sadly.

He watches as the realisation dawns on Merlin, as his face goes suddenly sombre, "Jesus, Harry, I didn't think…"

"After I came to terms with my sexuality, that was the only thing I hated about it." Harry tells him, "Not that it alienated me from my family, not the ever present threat of AIDs, or homophobia. I hated that I'd never be able to get married. I wanted to be able to show my friends, the people I cared about just how much I loved my partner, wanted to commit myself to him in front of everyone that mattered. I wanted people to see us as a real couple, not just an extended experiment."

"You mean you hated that you'd never get the dress, you big ponce." Merlin offers, trying to lighten the mood.

"I had had my heart set on a cream one, with princess sleeves." Harry has a hint of a smile on his face, "James would look dashing in it."

Merlin throws a pen at him, "Look, I'm happy for you, Harry. You and James are perfect for each other. If anyone could make a marriage work, it'd be you two. But why now?"

"This morning, I told him he would always be my younger, better looking boyfriend. I'd never realised just how much I hated that word. It sounds so frivolous, so temporary." Harry admits, "I don't want a boyfriend, I want a husband. I want that title, I want what that means."

"Losing your hair and no sex ever again?" Merlin jokes.

Harry looks over at him, raises an eyebrow. Merlin points to his own head, "Living proof, mate."

"You know, I think my hair is actually getting thicker." Harry teases, running a hand through his wavy hair. 

"You put a ring on that boys finger, and that'll all change." Merlin warns, "You don't have the skull for it."

"You wound me." 

"Calling it like it is, Galahad." Merlin says, with a smile, "All jokes aside though, Harry, I am happy for you. It's about time you appreciated the drudgery of married life, and with things being generally quiet at the moment, you've picked the perfect time."

\---x

Harry hates Merlin.

Within three days, all the Kingsman are scattered across the globe on different missions. The missions are top secret, officially Harry has no idea where James is. However if he's read their code right, and he always does, he's somewhere in South America. Harry is still in London, working a security detail for an ex-Kingsman candidate. Harry hates the man, and personally wouldn't consider it a terrible loss to the world if he accidentally got two bullets to the head and chest, but Arthur had insisted. 

Tarquin Forsythe had been one of Arthur's candidates for Gawain's place several years before, and he was a class A wanker. He'd taken an instant dislike to any female candidate who had turned him down, along with the sole gay man in the group. He'd generally acted like he was above the rest of the potential recruits, despite being Arthur's second choice. He'd gone out fairly early in the recruitment process (something Merlin may or may not have had something to do with) and had become an investment banker. 

Now he'd become convinced someone was trying to kill him - and Harry wouldn't have put it past them - and had demanded the Kingsman protect him. Harry resents being put on babysitter duty, which is why Arthur probably assigned it to him.

"If I knocked him to the ground, and accidentally broke his neck, do you think Arthur would believe I saw a valid threat?" Harry asks his glass of wine, as he watches Forsythe hitting on a beautiful, blonde woman less than half his age. She's not at all receptive, seems to want him to go away, as does her large husband. 

" _I'd vouch for you._ " Merlin says, through his glasses, " _Tenner says the husband is going to knock him out within the next two minutes._ "

"God, I hope so." Harry supposes he should really go over and intervene, but the wine is a 1981 Château Cos d'Estournel, and it really does deserve some appreciation. On top of which he's not exactly champing at the bit to stop Forsythe getting his ass handed to him by the young woman's husband. 

If Arthur asks, he can claim it would have jeopardised his cover. 

He continues watching as Forsthye rests his hand on the woman's hip. She tries to pull away, but he pulls her back, whispers something Harry can only imagine is incredibly unsavoury. Before her husband can make a move, the woman slams her stiletto heel into his instep and slams her knee up into his groin. As Forsythe doubles over, she grabs a tray from the buffet table and smacks him over the back with it, before kicking him to the floor.

Harry is pretty certain now he has to intervene, and sadly not to shake the young woman's hand. As he's crossing the room, he hears Merlin in his ear, " _Get her name, I want her as my next recruit._ "

Harry pulls Tarquin to his feet, Tarquin pulls out of his grip as fast as he possibly can. 

"I don't need your help, queer." He hisses. 

"The preceding events would prove otherwise." Harry points out, draining the rest of his glass of wine, "And you did hire me to look after you."

Tarquin glares at him, through beady little eyes that remind Harry of a rodent, before taking a swing at him. Harry raises a hand, pushes the punch off it's trajectory and takes a shot to the man's side. As he folds again, Harry hits him with a knee to the face and takes great satisfaction in the whoop he hears from Merlin.

Before Tarquin can get to his feet, Harry darts him with a sedative from his watch and catches him moments before he hits the ground. 

"I apologise for my clients behaviour." Harry tells the young couple, who have watched the scene before them unfold with glee, "Deeply closeted. He hired me for a fun time, and barely looked at me all night." 

Harry hopes desperately that Forsythe has to deal with this young couple again in the future, especially with the looks of realisation on their faces at what he's just implied. He offers them a beatific smile, before lugging the unconscious body out of the hotel ballroom. He drops it in a chair in the reception desk. He approaches the young man behind the desk, asks him if he minds calling a taxi for Tarquin. He's half tempted to ask if the taxi will drop him off at a club he and James have visited a few times, but figures that's a little unfair on the men who frequent the place. 

" _Arthur is going to have your head._ " Merlin sing-songs, " _Forsythe contributes a lot of money to the agency._ "

"And a lot of grief to the agents. He isn't worth it." Harry replies, as he flags down his own black cab. He pulls his phone from his pocket, and holds it to his ear so he can continue his conversation with Merlin. 

He gives the driver his address, before giving his full attention to Merlin again.

"Is there any word on James?" 

" _Harry..._ " Merlin says, in that tone that says 'you lovesick puppy', and 'don't make me breach protocol again' all at once. 

Harry doesn't say anything, knows that he can make Merlin crack with well timed silences. 

There's a rough groan from the other end, " _Lancelot checked in two hours ago. Everything is going as planned, and he should be back on British soil within a few days. In plenty of time for the big 4-0._ "

Harry smiles to himself, "Then I have some shopping to do."

\---x

The [ring](http://i.imgur.com/EhTdHbX.jpg) Harry picks out is simple, stylish and perfect for James. Platinum, a diamond set in the centre and a grooved design around it. (Merlin has already taken a look at it, confirmed he can turn it into a taser without damaging it too much). 

He's decided to propose on James' birthday. It's cliché, but he can't help himself. He wants the cliché, he wants James to remember his 40th birthday as something special because of him. 

(For Harry's 50th, James had introduced Harry to his parents, and older sister. His family had been kept separate from their relationship for as long as possible, simply to avoid them being used against them by villains. Harry kept his family from James because his family would be the villains.

James' mother and sister loved Harry instantly, was swooning over how lovely he was. James' dad admitted it wasn't what he'd expected from his son, what he'd wanted or hoped for. However, by the end of the week, he'd apologised for his earlier behaviour and shook his hand, told him he would be proud to call him his son. It was all Harry had ever wanted to hear from his own family). 

"I envy you and James." Percival, _Timothy_ , tells him, over lunch in the shop one afternoon, "I have to lie to my wife about my job every single day. She still thinks I'm actually a tailor. You and James though, you can be honest with each other."

Timothy snorts, unbecomingly, as he skewers his chicken, "You don't need to lie about your bruises, about your injuries. You don't have to claim there are tailor conventions. _Tailor conventions_ , Harry. I would kill to be able to tell Susanne the truth."

"You wouldn't." Harry tells him, "Yes, it helps that we both know what each other does, but it also means we both know what to worry about. We both know what can happen, we both know how much danger we're in. Susanne doesn't have to worry about you leaving that house every morning."

It's been a week since James has checked in with Merlin, since he's left a message for Harry on their blog, and nobody has heard from him. Harry is trying not to worry too much, 

James can take care of himself, he's one of the best in the agency. He'll be safe, he'll be fine. The brandy hasn't been broken out yet, the red K hasn't been illuminated, he'll be fine. 

"Harry." Timothy snaps him out of his haze. Harry looks down to see he's been stabbing a carrot to oblivion. 

"He's going to be okay, Harry." Timothy smiles at him, "We've all gone off the grid before, and it's usually due to some balls up with Merlin's equipment."

"Thank you, Percival." Merlin says, as he enters the dining room.

"Reconstructed ear, Merlin!" Timothy reminds him, "Your glasses blew, and they had to build a new ear for me!"

"Five years ago, Percival, move on." Merlin turns to Harry, "Galahad, a word?"

The use of his codename worries Harry. Merlin never calls him Galahad unless he's on a mission, or unless he needs to distance himself from their friendship. This is serious. Harry wipes his mouth with his napkin, drops it inelegantly on his plate and excuses himself from the table. Manners cost nothing. He follows Merlin from the dining room, and into his small office in the shop. 

"Lancelot has just checked in." Merlin tells him. 

And breathing suddenly seems easier, Harry's chest doesn't feel so tight. Merlin pauses before continuing, giving Harry a chance to just enjoy the fact his partner is alive. 

"How is he?" Harry asks, far more hopefully than he should, before his relief turns to anger, "Where is he? Why the bloody hell hasn't he contacted any of us?" 

Merlin reaches for a notepad and a pen from his desk, and starts scribbling something down. 

"He's been shot." Merlin tells him, calmly, as he continues to write, "But he's alive, and he's going to pull through."

Harry's trying not to fall apart over the words 'he's been shot' and instead focuses on what Merlin is scrawling down on the notepad next to him.

_Shot to the stomach, ruptured his spleen. Partner a trained medic. Saved his FUCKING LIFE. Been in hospital in Bolivia for a week._

Merlin looks across at him, rests his hand on Harry's shoulder, "Are you going to be okay?"

Harry nods, smiles weakly.

"Yes, thank you, Merlin."

He takes the pen from Merlin, circles 'shot to the stomach' and writes:

**I'M GOING TO KILL HIM MYSELF.**

Merlin laughs quietly, squeezes Harry's shoulder. He takes the pen back.

_Message?_

Harry takes the pen and quickly scrawls.

 **JUST TELL HIM 381H. ALSO HE'S A WANKER AND I HATE HIM AND I'M LEAVING HIM FOR DANIEL CRAIG.**

_Tristan knows him, we can make that happen._

Merlin offers him a smile, quickly scribbles down that he'll send off the message as soon as he can. 

He takes off his glasses, rubs his eyes and runs a hand through his hair. He sits on the desk, and takes a deep breath. There are tears in his eyes. He doesn't want to cry, but he knows that Merlin isn't going to judge him for it. 

He hasn't cried since James went missing and now he's alive and he's injured and Harry's going to marry him and it's such a goddamn relief. The tears are pouring down his face, he's not even crying, he's fucking sobbing and it feels so good. Merlin wraps an arm around his shoulder, pulls him to him in a half hug, and just lets him get it all out. 

\---x

Harry's phone chirrups at him, loud and insistent. He's been dozing on the sofa, the latest Jo Nesbo laid open on his lap. He opens his eyes and reaches across for his phone. It's a different tone to any official Kingsman business, so he figures it's safe. The screen says 'Pookie Bear', a sure sign this is Merlin's doing. 

He slides across to answer the phone and God, the voice on the other end is a relief. 

"You would last two hours before you darted Daniel Craig due to the inaccuracies in James Bond films." 

"Don't be ridiculous. It would be at least three days before I let him say anything that wasn't my name, or 'oh God!'."

"Only three days? I seem to remember it was at least a week before you let me." 

Harry smiles, "We were younger, darling. I'd need some recuperation time after three days."

He can hear a soft laugh on James' end, "God, it's good to hear your voice."

"The feeling's mutual." Harry tells him. He wants to scream at him, complain about his recklessness, about how he managed to get himself shot when Harry had plans for their future and how could he be so bloody inconsiderate? 

"So, Harry, what are you wearing?" James asks, dipping his voice to a low purr. It sends shivers down Harry's spine, and he forgets exactly why he's so mad in the first place. 

(Harry blames James' voice almost entirely for him developing a crush on him to begin with. The moment James had shook Harry's hand, and introduced himself in that low purr, Harry's composure nearly went out the window).

"You realise Merlin will be monitoring this channel, right?" Harry replies, voice sounding a little strained. 

"Voyeurism was always on my list of things to try." James tells him, "Besides you can't tell me he wouldn't get off on this."

"You're not the one who has to look him in the eye tomorrow." Harry realises he's fighting a losing battle as his hand drifts to his cock. 

"I don't want to talk about Merlin." James tells him, "Want to talk about you, about how much I've been missing you."

Harry slowly rubs at his cock through his pyjama pants, absently noticing the egg stain on the left knee. Christ, they're James'. 

"It's been two weeks, Harry. I don't think I've gone that long without you in all the time we've been together. I miss touching you, miss kissing you, fucking you, sucking your cock. God, I want to suck you off, Harry. Do you want that?"

"Yes, James." 

Harry is vaguely aware that James is in hospital right now, that anybody could be listening to them. He hates that this just turns him on even more. He pushes the pants over his hips, licks his hand and takes hold of his dick, it's not ideal but fuck, James isn't dead and he's talking to him and Harry needs this. 

"Where are you, Harry? Want to picture you."

"Our house, on the sofa in the lounge." Harry tells him.

"Mmm, I can just imagine you laid out, hand on your prick, wishing it was mine." James tells him, "Wishing it was my mouth."

"I wish you were here too, would have you on your knees, would teach you not to leave me." Harry tells him. 

"Would you fuck my mouth, make me choke on your big cock?" James asks, his own voice faltering now. 

"Yes." Harry hisses, "God, yes."

There's an answering groan from James on the other end of the phone, "Fuck, Harry."

Harry's almost embarrassed by how close he is already, but it's been weeks and James is talking to him and Merlin might be listening, and God, why does that turn him on? James has warped him something fierce. 

"James, please."

"Fuck, do it, want to taste you, swallow you all down, want you to come for me, love." James sounds wrecked, perfect and wrecked and God, Harry wishes he could see his face. 

His hair would be flopping in his face, his blue eyes blown and his perfect mouth falling open, letting out the most delicious noises. Harry comes with this image in the forefront of his mind. He can hear James calling his name on the other end of the phone, as he lets his arm fall to his side, riding out his release. 

As Harry comes back to himself, he finds himself laughing in relief and at just how ridiculous this whole thing. He lifts the phone to his ear again, just in time to hear James quip at him.

"Let's see Daniel Craig do that."

\---x

It's a week before James is back on British soil, arriving in the Kingsman jet at the HQ out in the Devonshire countryside.

Harry is there to meet him, had respectfully told Arthur to sod off when Forsythe had requested another security detail. Merlin is there with him, though he's still very pointedly avoiding making eye contact with Harry, addressing all his comments to the middle distance. Harry's too happy to be seeing James again to feel much embarrassment about Merlin hearing what they'd done. Instead he's been reminding him that 'when two people love each other very much, and are very far away...' to which he's usually been recieving a pen to the face. 

"Your suite in HQ has been soundproofed." Merlin tells him as they stand waiting for the jets doors to open.

"And bugged, I trust?" 

"I hate you." Merlin reminds him. 

The jet door opens and Harry finally sees James for the first time in weeks, and God, his heart is fluttering. James is in khakis and a dark blue jumper. There are a number of small cuts, healing on his face and neck, and he's limping slightly as he comes down the stairs of the jet. He has a bandage around his right hand, and none of it matters because he's alive.

As soon as he's within arms reach, Harry throws his arms around James and clings to him for dear life. James responds in kind, clinging to Harry like a life preserver, pressing kisses into his neck as they both tell each other how much they've missed each other, how much they love each other and idle promises about never leaving again.  
James pulls out of the hug first, presses his hand to his stomach, where the gunshot had been. Harry rests a hand gently over his.

"Are you okay?"

"Forgot I was broken," James says, with a little laugh, "I'm fine." He kisses Harry quickly, "I'm fine."

"It's good to see you safe, Lancelot." Merlin interjects.

James turns his attention to Merlin, "Oh darling, I think we're past codenames now, don't you?"

He walks across to him, grabs his head and presses a sloppy kiss to his cheek, "I've missed you too." 

"I will punch you in your spleen." Merlin says, pushing James off him. 

"And after we shared something so special?" 

Merlin groans and rolls his eyes, leaving James and Harry in the hanger.

James looks over at Harry, "Something I said?"

\---x

"I've been thinking." James starts, as he and Harry are laid in bed together some hours later. Harry's head is on James' chest, eyes closed, just listening to his heartbeat. It's still here, it's still steady, Harry's so happy. James' arms are wrapped tightly around him, and he's missed this so much. 

"I know you've warned me off it, but it's a long flight from La Paz, and all they had on the entertainment system was The Killing, and we agreed to watch that together." James goes on, talking into Harry's hair.

"So you decided thinking was your best option?" 

"It was either that or fill out my mission report." 

"You definitely made the right choice." Harry says, smiling into James chest.

"We should get married." James says, into Harry's hair.

It takes Harry a second to realise what James has said, to realise that his stupid boyfriend has spoiled his stupid 40th birthday surprise. 

"You shit." Harry tells him, rolling off James and onto his back. He pushes himself up to a seated position, "You utter shit."

"So, no?" James sounds disappointed.

Harry leans across and goes into the bedside table, pulling out the black ringbox he's tucked away in the back. He turns back to James, flips the box open and passes it across to him.

"It was supposed to be a birthday present." Harry tells him as he watches James' face light up, a grin spreading across his face, "And my proposal was going to be far more romantic. We should get married? That's not even a question, James."

"You were going to propose?"

"You're surprised?" Harry asks, "I've been in love with you for nearly seventeen years, James. Nine of those I've spent proud to call myself your boyfriend, your partner. Why wouldn't I want to spend the next nine, the next seventeen, the rest of our lives as your husband?" 

The grin that spreads across James' face is the most gorgeous thing that Harry has ever seen. James takes Harry's face in his hands and kisses him, they're both grinning and laughing and it's barely even a kiss, but it's the best kiss Harry has ever had. 

"Ask me." James says, against his lips, pressing the closed box back into Harry's hand, "Properly, ask me."

Harry kisses him again, before sliding out of bed. He drops to one knee and flips the box open. He holds it up to James.

"James Trevelyan, will you do me the honour of becoming my husband?" Harry's grinning, there's a lump in his throat and he can't believe this is happening. He can't believe the pretty, blue eyed, floppy haired boy he developed such an epic crush on seventeen years before has just demanded he propose to him. 

James nods, "Yes." 

He doesn't need to say anything else, doesn't need to elaborate, because Harry wouldn't hear a single word he said. Yes is enough, yes is all he wanted, yes is all he needs. Harry pulls the ring from the box and stands up to slide it onto James' finger. It fits perfectly. Of course it does. James pulls Harry back onto the bed with him. 

They kiss again, another kiss which is too full of smiles and laughing to be much of a kiss but is still so fucking perfect.

"I love you, I love you so much." Harry whispers against James' mouth, "I love you."

"I love you too, Harry." James tells him, "God, I love you."

Yes. 

Harry Hart is definitely more than pretty okay with his life.

**Author's Note:**

> Want a little extra angst? Look at the timeline. 17 years since James became Lancelot, since he joined the Kingsman and met Harry. 17 years since Lee Unwin's death. 17 years since the last time they needed to use that brandy. 
> 
> This all ties into my headcanon that Harry seemed like a reckless, broken hearted man who would have been more than happy to join his partner in oblivion through the first half of the movie. His grief was almost painful to watch at times, that boy really was heartbroken. 
> 
> Come yell at me on [Tumblr](http://damnstevens.tumblr.com)!


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